


Face and Mind

by Angelic_Ascent



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Awkwardness, During Canon, M/M, Sleepovers, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Ascent/pseuds/Angelic_Ascent
Summary: “Hey,” he whispers as he starts to hurriedly fish a shirt out of his clothing box. “Akechi is staying over.”“What?!”Morgana says, leaping upwards on the couch. “Are you serious?! Why?!”Akira realizes that any answer he can supply doesn’t seem as strong as it did when he told it to himself several minutes ago.





	Face and Mind

“I’m home.”

“Welcome home.”

Akira doesn’t need to be able to see to know who greets him; the voice has become too familiar to him. Which is good, because he can’t see much of anything: his glasses completely blur his vision, covered in raindrops. 

“You’re back late,” Akechi says. “Wh -- ah, I see you forgot an umbrella.”

“I didn’t check the forecast,” Akira half-grumbles. He takes off his glasses, uselessly rubbing them against his equally wet shirt. Vision unobscured, he sees Akechi sitting at his usual spot, an open book and cup of coffee in front of him. The rest of the café is empty, save for Sojiro; of course, that’s expected during a downpour like today.

“Well, that’s what you get, then,” Sojiro says with a short laugh.

Akira only gives him a look before he drops his bag onto one of the booths, unzipping it and letting Morgana out. Even with the shelter of the bag, the water was torrential enough that it had sunk through, and the cat’s damp fur clung to him. He shakes his whole body, gives a short hiss, and walks quickly up the stairs.

“Here,” Sojiro says, no further warning before he tosses Akira a large towel from behind the counter, which is caught with ease. “Just dry off in the bathroom. I’m going to close up early.” Not waiting for a reply, he walks over to the kitchen.

Akira mumbles a thanks. But instead of making his way to the bathroom, he takes a seat next to Akechi.

“You really should go dry off,” Akechi says.

“It’s just water.” True, his hair and clothes are like glue against his body, and parts of him feel a bit numb from the chill, but…

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“You don’t have to keep up with the loving wife act beyond greeting me at the door, you know.”

Akira can see Akechi stop mid-sip of his drink, but he plays it off well by clearing his throat as he sets his drink down with his usual poise. “Well, let me know when you have an actual wife to do it in my stead.”

A smile finds its way onto Akira’s face, growing wider, he realizes, as Akechi returns it. 

Akechi’s eyes return to his book and Akira takes out his phone. It blinks with several messages.

Akira’s gaze, however, find its way back to Akechi. He sits with one leg crossed over the other, leaning over the counter with his chin resting on his hand. Though his hair falls forward a bit, it doesn’t obscure his eyes entirely, and Akira notes that not only are they unmoving across the page of his book, but they’re also half shut. Even still, Akechi lightly fidgets with the corner of a page in between his forefinger and thumb. 

“Tired?” Akira asks.

Akechi looks over at him with a small start. “Hm?” He seems to take a moment to process the question, but he then simply shakes his head once. “Oh, not particularly,” he says, not convincing Akira or even himself, probably.

“You want another refill before I close up? On me, since it’s your fourth,” Sojiro says, walking back over to them. “And you,” he adds, voice decidedly less friendly, “get in the damn bathroom and dry off before you soak the counter.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Akira says, standing with a small sigh. 

“Good night, then,” Akechi says.

“You too. Careful on your way home.”

“I’ll be fine. I have an umbrella.”

Akira doesn’t bother looking back to see the self-satisfied smile on his face.

After closing the bathroom door behind him he forcefully rubs the towel through his hair, hurriedly kicking off his shoes at the same time. It’s with a little difficulty that he peels his socks off, and it takes much more patience than he has available to pull his soaked shirt over his head. He wrings it over the sink, and leaves it draped on the towel rack. 

Distantly, he hears the bell of the café door, signalling Akechi’s departure. Akira sighs and his movements slow, rubbing the towel over his torso. He doesn’t bother to put his glasses on or even dry them.

Leaving the towel with his shirt, he opens the door to the empty café.

Or not, he realizes, noticing the familiar figure that had seemly not moved an inch since Akira left.

Almost unmoved, anyway. Instead of just leaning over the counter, though, now Akechi is fully slumped forward, head buried in his forearms. 

“Akechi?”

No response.

Akira takes a step toward him. “Akechi.”

Silence.

Sitting in the seat next to him, Akira simply watches him for a moment. Akechi’s head is tilted to the side just enough that Akira can see part of his face, if obscured by his hair. It’s an expression he had never really seen on Akechi; his face was lax, tension largely gone from his body. 

“Akechi,” Akira says again, quieter, and this time Akechi shifts a bit.

But nothing beyond that.

Slowly, Akira brings a hand to the other’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Akechi moves again, this time a small noise escaping him that makes Akira’s chest feel like it’s floating.

Akira brings his hand upwards, tenderly brushing aside a bit of Akechi’s hair.

Of course, Akechi stirs now, long lashes fluttering open like a crow’s wings. 

Akira quickly pulls his hand back. “Morning.”

It’s only after a moment or two of gazing around with half-closed eyes that Akechi jolts, sitting up straight. 

“Not tired, huh?” Akira says with a small smirk.

Akechi’s gaze turns to Akira, opening his mouth, only to promptly close it as his eyes quickly travel up and down the other’s body.

“Do you have a fever?” Akira asks. “You seem lost. And your face is red.”

“Oh --” Akechi clears his throat once, eyes returning to his coffee cup. “No, I feel fine.”

Even if he won’t see, Akira gives him a disbelieving look, leaning his elbow on the counter and perching his hand in his hand. 

The silence is awkward, Akechi firmly staring down at his cup, and Akira somehow feels unable to focus on talking and can’t rid his mind of the visual of Akechi sleeping, tranquil and relaxed and _cute --_

“I apologize for this,” Akechi says suddenly, still refusing to meet Akira’s gaze. “I… Sakura-san told me I could stay to finish this, and that you’d lock up afterwards, and then…”

“You fell asleep.”

Akechi sighs. After a moment, he says, “Well, I really should be going.”

Akira doesn’t know what’s he’s about to say, but his mouth is already open and the words are at the tip of his tongue, and he doesn’t know why he’s thankful Akechi cuts him off with another sigh, but he is.

“What’s wrong?” Akira asks, looking down at Akechi, who’s stopped after leaning over to pick up his briefcase.

“Nothing,” Akechi says quickly, grabbing his case and standing up with equal speed. “Well then --”

“Where’s your umbrella?”

Akechi freezes.

“I… forgot it.”

“…But you said --”

“I know,” Akechi says, running a hand through his hair, and Akira is really starting to worry he has a fever. “I really thought I brought it. I put it next to the door before I left, and then…” He shakes his head, sighing again. “I’ll see you,” he says, turning around quickly and taking a step toward the door --

“Wait,” Akira says, and before the word is even out he’s on his feet and has grabbed Akechi by the wrist. “Stay.”

Akechi’s head whirls and he meets Akira’s gaze for the first time since he woke up. “Wh -- what?”

“Why not just… stay here overnight?” Akira asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… the rain isn’t supposed to let up until tomorrow, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the trains stopped early.” He has no idea if the trains would stop early for something like this. He isn’t sure why he said that.

“I… couldn’t impose on you like that.”

Akira shrugs. “It’s not an imposition. I have a couch upstairs. Tomorrow’s Sunday, anyway.”

The only sound in the café is the rain hammering against the windows.

“Stay,” Akira repeats.

Akechi’s eyes shift from the floor, to Akira, and back to the floor.

“If you insist.”

Akira’s lips stretch into a small smile and Akechi runs his fingers through his bangs.

“I’m going to get a shirt and make some curry,” Akira says, as Akechi busies himself opening his case and putting his book inside. “Do you want some?”

“Please,” Akechi says quickly, attention still on his case as he closes it.

“How spicy do you like it?” Akira asks, walking toward the stairs.

“…Excuse me?”

Akira stops, looking back at Akechi. “I wanted to know how you liked your curry.”

“Curry?”

They stare at each other.

“I asked if you wanted curry, and you said please,” Akira says.

“…Oh,” Akechi says, “Oh. I really couldn’t ask that of you, you’re already letting me stay over.”

Akira takes a moment, a bit of vexation still holding him, but he ends up simply waving his hand. “I always make too much anyway. And I don’t really have a preference, so how do you like it?”

Akechi nods once, slowly. “…Mild, then, if you could.”

“Sure.”

And then Akira is finally heading upstairs.

“Hey,” he whispers as he starts to hurriedly fish a shirt out of his clothing box. “Akechi is staying over.”

 _“What?!”_ Morgana says, leaping upwards on the couch. “Are you serious?! Why?!”

Akira realizes that any answer he can supply doesn’t seem as strong as it did when he told it to himself several minutes ago.

“He just is. I’m going to go make us some curry.”

“Wh -- what are you, his boyfriend? You come home and he welcomes you back and you make him dinner? _Ooh,_ you’re home late, _honey,”_ Morgana finishes, his mocking tone sickly sweet.

“Cut it,” Akira says, standing and throwing a plain pajama top over his head. “It’ll be nice to have company for a change.”

“I’d agree with you if it was someone we could, you know, trust.”

Akira takes a step toward the stairs.

“It’s not like he’s so different,” he says, and then heads back down.

When he turns the corner, Akechi is back sitting at his usual spot, taking a sip of his drink. Akira heads toward the kitchen, taking out a pot and several items from the cabinet.

“Can I help?” Akechi asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira says as he turns on the stove.

And so he goes to work. Thankfully, cooking curry is second nature to him by now, and it makes it easy to steal glances at Akechi. He’s taken his book back out, and actually seems to be reading it. Well, sometimes. Other times he’s staring at his phone, or sometimes he seems to be looking back down quickly, and this time their eyes make contact --

Akira turns his attention entirely to the curry.

It gets to a point where he can’t do anything but watch it cook on the stove, and so he walks over to Akechi, taking his empty cup. “Drink?”

“My, so hospitable,” Akechi says, giving him a small smile. “Just water is fine.”

Akira nods. “How much do you want? Did you eat anything while you were here?”

“No, but I ate before I came here,” Akechi says, looking back down at his phone. “Just a small portion, please.”

Akira just nods instead of pressing him on how long “before I came here” translates into when the measurement unit is “your fourth refill.”

He washes Akechi’s cup and fills it with water, giving it back and getting a “thanks” in return. He then turns off the stove, serves the curry onto two plates, and brings them over to one of the booths.

“This is a bit more than a small portion,” Akechi says, sitting down across from Akira.

“I told you I always make too much.”

Akira can feel his stomach about to growl, but he simply sits with spoon in hand, watching Akechi intently out of the corner of his eye as the other takes a bite.

“Is it alright?” Akira asks. He’s not sure why he’s asking. His curry is always good.

Akechi nods quickly. “It’s delicious, actually.”

Akira feels his mouth stretch into a smile.

They eat in silence, and perhaps because it’s so easy to focus on the pounding rain, or the soft clinking of silverware against plates, but somehow having Akechi across from him, eating food he made, doesn’t feel awkward.

Akira, of course, is done in less than two minutes, and leans back with a sigh when he’s finished. “You know, I didn’t imagine you as a heavy sleeper.”

Akechi looks up from his food, and Akira realizes that he’s praying whatever comes out of his mouth isn’t “You’ve imagined me sleeping?”

It isn’t, thankfully. Instead Akechi just shakes his head once, looking back down. “I’m not, really.”

Akira doesn’t have any evidence to support this, but he finds himself believing it.

Now the silence feels a bit awkward.

Akechi takes a few more bites of the curry, and Akira takes sips of water he’s not really thirsty for.

“Thank you for this,” Akechi says, setting his spoon down on his empty plate. “It really was delicious.”

“Like I said, I would’ve made it anyway, so it’s no big deal,” Akira says. “But you’re welcome.” Though he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have measured the ingredients so carefully or made sure it was cooked _just right_ otherwise.

Before he’s beaten to it, Akira takes Akechi’s plate, stacking it on top of his own and bringing them over to the sink.

“Let’s go. Don’t get too excited though. Unlike some people, I’m not a Detective Prince, so my room isn’t that fancy.”

Akechi actually laughs a little and Akira smiles.

They walk up into his room, and Akira meets Morgana’s gaze, who lies curled on the couch, tail thumping lightly with a distinct attitude.

“So here’s my attic,” Akira says, making a loose gesture. “Make yourself at home.”

“It’s very you,” Akechi says, looking around slowly.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“It is.” Akechi looks away to put his case down before adding, “It’s comfortable.”

Akira rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh, here,” he says after a moment, reaching into his box and pulling out one of his comfier sets of shirts and sweatpants. 

“Hm?” Akechi says, looking back at him.

“Well, you don’t want to sleep in that, right?”

Akira sees him stop breathing a moment.

“Oh -- oh. I… probably shouldn’t,” Akechi says, looking down at his clothes. “I mean, if you’re alright with it…”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Akechi opens his mouth, but instead of replying, promptly closes it and simply takes the clothes from Akira, slow enough that Akira wonders if Akechi knows that they are in fact just clothes and not a bomb set to detonate.

As Akechi takes a step toward the stairs, Akira gives a small wave of his hand. “I’m not gonna look,” he says, walking over to his bed. He sits cross-legged on it with his back to Akechi, and plugs his phone into the outlet in the wall next to his pillow. 

Akira looks behind himself, silence making him unsure if Akechi heard him. Akechi stands with his back to Akira, forearms up as he slips his two fingers under one of his gloves. Akira’s eyes fixate on the movement, watching as Akechi curls and uncurls his slender, now bare fingers, before slipping those ones under his other glove, and --

Akira quickly turns his attention back forward.

The room is quiet, save for the pour against the windows. It takes a few moments before Akira starts to hear the sound of Akechi unbuttoning his coat, and then what must be the sound of him placing it somewhere. The _click_ of Akechi unbuckling his belt, the sound of his zipper --

Akira leans forward a bit, about to open his window to try and let some cool air into his improbably hot room, but the rain he had somehow become deaf to tells him otherwise.

He turns his attention firmly to his phone, where the same glowing icon of unread messages from earlier greets him. Several previews cross his notifications: _“What are you doing…” “About tomorrow…” “Do you want to…”_ He swipes to another page of apps. He hears Akechi unbuttoning his shirt.

Focusing _firmly_ on his phone Akira realizes that at some point he opened his alarms. There’s none, of course, for Sunday. He’ll be damned before he wakes up anytime before noon on a Sunday.

…But he should probably get Akechi out of the café before it opens tomorrow. Now, somehow, the idea of waking up early on his day off doesn’t make Akira want to die as much as it normally would, perhaps because his mind is lingering on the idea of another chance to wake a sleepy Akechi --

“You have quite an array of things from different places.” 

Akira turns, finding Goro Akechi in his pajamas, eyes wandering the large shelf near Akira’s bed.

He probably couldn’t find the right words to describe the image: Akechi standing with all the poise and posture of the Detective Prince, hand at his chin as he examines Akira’s belongings, with the juxtaposition of not only being in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a loose fitting shirt, but coupled with the fact that they were Akira’s own.

Akira’s eyes wander up, wondering if maybe the pants are too loose on Akechi; then again, as big as they seem to be around his calves, they did give some form around his thighs, and tightened especially around his --

“I thought you moved here this year. I’m surprised you’ve collected things from so many places.”

Akira’s gaze snaps back up to Akechi, who’s still eyeing his shelf intently. “Oh, well, I didn’t really,” Akira says. “This is all stuff from my friends, actually.”

Akira sees Akechi purse his lips, however briefly. “I see,” he says. His hands fall to his sides and his attention turns fully to Akira. “Sorry to ask when you’re already being so kind, but would it be possible for me to charge my phone overnight?” He asks, voice brisk.

“Sure,” Akira says, before even checking his phone’s battery. “Here.” 

As he shifts his legs out from under himself, he absently wonders exactly what Akechi does look at on his phone. _“Akechi is nothing but talk.” “Akechi was so wrong lol.” “I hope the Thieves take Akechi’s heart.”_ Those kind of comments were so popular lately that they stick in Akira’s mind, a person who they’re not even about.

Akira scoots to the other end of the bed, offering up the short cable. Akechi takes a moment, looking from the cable to Akira and then back again, before sitting on the edge of the bed and plugging his phone in. And then he just sits there, back to Akira, shoulders tense as he stares at the floor.

“Is… everything okay?” Akira asks, placing his phone on the windowsill.

“Hm?” Akechi says, turning his head to him, a small smile on his face. “Of course.”

His gaze leaves Akira as soon as it had come.

“…You know, it’s just me here. You don’t need to keep up an image… or anything like that. You can just be honest.”

And then Akechi’s hands curl so tightly into his thighs that Akira is sure it’s bruising and Akechi says, voice like ice, “It’s not like you’d understand.”

There’s a roll of thunder in the distance and even with the pounding rain backing it up, the room is very quiet, now.

Akira is still, suddenly hyperaware of his heart beating against his chest. “Akechi?” he says softly.

He can’t see Akechi’s face past the curtain of hair that’s fallen forward, but he can see his knuckles turning white, his shoulders trembling ever-so-slightly.

Akira scoots forward so he’s next to Akechi, taking note of the way the other’s body tenses further with every inch Akira draws closer.

“I… think I am tired,” Akechi finally says, eyes refusing to meet Akira’s. “I apologize.”

Akira shakes his head. “It’s understandable. It seems like there’s a lot going on lately for you. …I mean, you fell asleep at the counter.”

Akechi’s head turns just a bit toward Akira, the crimson red tint of his eyes barely visible through his bangs. “Perhaps,” he says, grip on his thighs loosening a bit.

The silence between them is heavier than the next roll of thunder.

“Thank you too, by the way,” Akira says.

“…For what?”

“It’s nice to have company. And it was nice to make food for someone else.”

From the side of his vision, he catches Morgana sticking out his tongue.

Akechi shakes his head, slowly. “You… shouldn’t thank me.”

“Let me,” Akira says, and he nudges Akechi’s shoulder with his own. “I like coming home and seeing you here.”

“Why are you so nice to me?”

Akechi’s voice is as quick as the way he meets the other’s gaze, eyes sharp with a piercing look Akira hasn’t seen before.

An answer is on the tip of Akira’s tongue but he holds it back, and takes a moment to actually mull his words. “I meant it when I said I agreed that we shared some kind of bond, you know. And like you said, I believe in fate too, to an extent.”

Akechi is still.

“And I just like you.”

And then Akechi looks at him. In the dimly lit room, his features are darkened, only accentuated by the way his hair frames his face, nearly covering his gaze in shadow. Darker than anything, though, are his eyes, shades of bright crimson now like blood. 

But still there is a softness, in the way his long lashes hood his eyes, or in how his lips stay parted just a moment before he speaks.

The rain hammers against the window and the thunder roars.

“I like you, too,” Akechi says quietly, as if coming out of his mouth was as difficult as breaking open a jail cell.

Akira smiles at him and Akechi casts his gaze elsewhere.

“Sorry it’s warm in here,” Akira says, noting the redness in the other’s cheeks.

“Oh, it’s -- it’s not. It’s fine, really.”

“Come here,” Akira says, scooting back until he’s leaning against the wall. “It’s a bit cooler next to the window.”

Akechi takes a moment, but eventually he follows suit and scoots back next to Akira.

“I really don’t feel particularly tired,” Akechi says amidst the quiet. “It’s just when I’m here, I…”

He shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” Akira says. “About that, I didn’t say it earlier, but you don’t have to apologize for falling asleep. It was cute.”

Akechi stares at him. “Pardon?”

Akira’s not sure if Akechi truly didn’t hear him, or if it was just reflexive, but he has a feeling Akechi knows what he said after Akira just gives him a smirk and Akechi hurriedly casts his gaze elsewhere.

Despite that, the silence they fall into is comfortable. Akira looks over at Morgana -- who appears to have fallen asleep, thankfully -- and then back to Akechi. The other has picked up his phone, fingers deftly skimming across the screen. But only a few moments pass before he locks the screen, and covers up a yawn with the back of his hand.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Akira asks.

Akechi looks at him, then back to his phone. “I have to go meet someone in the morning,” he says, a bit quietly. “But actually… that’s it. Sundays are usually relatively free for me.”

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

Akechi tilts his head a bit. “For what?”

“For fun.”

A pause. “Surely you must already have plans, or invitations…”

Akira shakes his head. “Nope.”

Akechi brushes some strands of hair behind his ear, unlocking his phone just to lock it again. 

“It’s just an offer. Just text me tomorrow if you want. What’s your number?” Akira asks, already creating a new contact.

“I get asked that a lot, you know,” Akechi says, showing Akira’s number from his contacts instead of repeating it. 

Akira says nothing, but quickly types a message to his new contact:

_“guess i’m lucky then.”_

He hears Akechi stifle a small laugh before he gets a reply.

_“That’s two of us.”_

Akira smiles.

And then he locks his phone, and moves his gaze to the window. He had yet to hear any more thunder, and the rain was less torrential and more just a steady flow. It hits his window with a rhythm, now, instead of a chaotic smattering.

He opens his phone again and searches for the forecast -- sunny after the morning, clear skies and moderate temperature. That certainly left options open. The bookstore, the museum, Inokashira -- then again, it’s not like he has a very good idea of what Akechi likes to do in his spare time. Actually, he’s not even sure if they’re going anywhere tomorrow, so there’s no point dwelling on it, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“Hey, what --”

Akira stops as a weight lightly falls onto his shoulder.

He looks over and is met with Akechi’s hair tickling his face, and his head resting against Akira.

Akechi’s hands rest at ease on his lap, though the entirety of his torso is leaning toward Akira. Slowly, his chest rises -- and then even slower, it falls.

Steadily, Akira brings a hand to Akechi’s face, carefully brushing his bangs aside. Akechi’s eyes are, of course, closed. He looks nearly the same as he did as when he was sleeping on the countertop, except now Akira is just centimeters away from him -- he can see each of Akechi’s eyelashes, and the exact shape and curve of his lips --

Akira yawns, closing his eyes as they water a bit.

The white noise of the rain seems to get quieter and quieter, replaced with the even sounds of Akechi’s slow breathing. For comfort’s sake, Akira leans into the other, Akechi’s hair soft against his face. Stands of it tickle his nose an almost dainty scent fills it. The scenery of the attic fades as his eyes close, and his body is so heavy that Akechi’s hand resting on his arm seems feather-light as sleep comes over him.

* * *

Akira wakes as slowly as he usually does. Senses flow in one at a time: the overpowering yet comforting warmth at his side, a nearly sweet scent, the quiet breathing that was in time with his own.

Finally, sluggishly, his eyes open. The attic is filled with a warm light, similar to when he wakes up for school. But it’s Sunday, he vaguely recalls. No need to be up yet. Especially not when everything seems so much more comfy than usual.

Closing his eyes, he leans further into the warmth besides him, and the hold around his torso tightens just a bit.

Akira’s eyes open again. Much quicker this time.

Since last night, Akechi has fully turned on his side, his legs curled in and his head buried into Akira’s shoulder. One arm is draped over Akira, with his free hand holding Akira’s own.

Though he’s not the only one to have shifted during their sleep: Akira is leaning fully into Akechi now, head resting right against his and his legs pushed into the other’s. One hand, of course, holds Akechi’s, and the other rests on Akechi’s arm.

Akira manages to tear his eyes away, looking at the couch -- Morgana was still asleep, it seemed.

He better be, anyway.

“Hey,” Akira murmurs, squeezing Akechi’s hand -- why didn’t he just nudge him, or push him? “Akechi.”

Thankfully, Akechi stirs, his head rising just a bit off Akira’s shoulder. He makes a light noise, and something about that with his sleep-tousled hair makes Akira’s heart miss a beat.

Decidedly turning his attention away, Akira grabs his phone and unlocks his scene. “Sojiro is going to be here in like ten minutes,” he says quickly. “C’mon.”

He looks back at Akechi,who meets him with fluttering, sleep-glazed eyes. “Kurusu?” he mumbles. It’s as he slides his arm back from around Akira’s torso that it seems to hit him, eyes widening as he sits upright. “Ah -- um.”

“I’m going to go make sure he’s not already here,” Akira says hurriedly, sitting up. “You should change.”

“R-Right.”

Only when Akira goes to stand does he realizes that their hands are still joined, and he feels Akechi freeze in time with him, before they both let go as if forced away.

Akira heads down the stairs without looking back.

The café is, thankfully, empty. Especially at this time, the area is quiet, so no one would see the Detective Prince leaving some backstreet café in the early morning. Probably.

Akira does a quick once over of where he and Akechi sat, making sure no evidence of a guest was left -- not that Akira thinks Sojiro would mind if he had someone overnight, probably, but he really didn’t feel up to explaining to him or Futaba why it was Akechi of all people.

“It’s clear,” Akira says, walking back up the stairs. “Just --”

He freezes as he makes it to the top step, making eye contact with Akechi -- Akechi, who is standing there in only his black briefs and his shirt, halfway done buttoning it up.

Immediately Akira tears his gaze away, shifting it down -- not without being unable to avoid the sight of Akechi’s pale, nearly slender legs. “My bad,” he says quickly, gluing his eyes to the floor. “I should have waited down there. Didn’t think about it.”

“It’s fine,” Akechi says hurriedly, and Akira isn’t sure if he’s ever heard anyone fumbling with clothes faster in his life. “Don’t worry about it.”

So then Akira stands there, hands in his pockets as he stares downward. 

Despite the quick movements he hears, it seems like a year passes.

Absentmindedly, he runs a hand through his hair, fingers swimming through his morning curls. He stops hearing movement from Akechi, and he’s tempted to look up -- and honestly it’s not like it would be that weird, he’s probably mostly dressed, yet it somehow definitely feels weird -- but as he returns his hand back to his pocket he hears Akechi clip his belt and continue on.

A few moments later Akechi is stepping toward him, and Akira looks up to meet his gaze. Fully dressed, this time.

Akira gives him a nod and heads downstairs, realizing he forgot his key as he’s halfway to the door -- and then realizing that he never even locked the door last night anyway. Oh well.

“Well… I'll see you,” Akechi says, giving a short bow. “Thank you for everything.”

Akira shakes his head. “Like I said, don't worry about it. Just get going.”

Akechi nods and places a hand on the door.

“Oh, wait,” Akira says. “I checked the weather last night. It's supposed to rain more this morning so --” He walks past Akechi and to the corner next to the counter. “Here. Just borrow this,” he says, handing him an umbrella.

“…If you're sure,” Akechi says, taking it with a soft touch. “Thank you.”

Akira gives him a small smile, before quickly stepping toward the door and holding it open. “Careful out there.”

Akechi nods once, short, and steps toward the door. “…See you, then,” he says. He doesn’t move, though, and simply casts his eyes from the outside, and to Akira.

Akira meets his gaze, and they stand there like that. The silence engulfs all but the small droplets of rain beginning to tap the windows.

“See you,” Akechi says again, and then he’s out the door with a brisk pace, not looking back.

The door shuts behind him.

For a few moments, Akira doesn’t move. His eyes stay on the spot where Akechi disappeared around the corner.

But Sojiro would be here any minute.

And so Akira heads back upstairs. His room feels somehow emptier.

Passing a still sleeping Morgana on the couch, he walks to his bed, finding the pajamas he had lent to Akechi folded and stacked neatly. He lays on his bed without moving them.

After plugging in his phone, he briefly glances his notifications -- the same ones as last night. He sighs and puts it back down. A chill runs up his body, and he pulls his blanket over himself, but it does little to help.

His eyes are heavy and they close, but his mind doesn’t slow. He wonders who Akechi has gone to meet. He wonders if Akechi is using the umbrella he gave him. He wonders why he didn’t just offer Akechi an umbrella last night.

Perhaps he’s just too tired or perhaps he really doesn’t want to think about that, but either way his senses dim, and he falls asleep. 

* * *

When Akira wakes, it’s not by way of the sunlight on him, pouring through the window. Rather it’s the _brring_ of his phone, loud next to his head. Akira groans lightly, his eyelids still like lead. Using what feels like all the energy in the world, he rubs his eyes and picks up his phone to look at his new text.

_“I’m downstairs.”_

Akira's fingers fly across the keys.

_“be right there.”_

**Author's Note:**

> kiryuujoshua@tumblr, kuremikazuchi@twitter, hmu with them shuakes, prompts or otherwise.
> 
> next time i rly want to do smth more from goro's perspective. i fought a lot with whether this should be from his or akira's, and this was supposed to be just "cute shuake sleeping on each other on akira's couch" but turned into all this.


End file.
